


Lovelace

by Hipsterian



Category: Winner (Band)
Genre: College AU, M/M, Soulmates AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:07:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23516653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hipsterian/pseuds/Hipsterian
Summary: When you find your soulmate, you have to be together. Otherwise, you'll suffer.But Jinwoo doesn't believe in soulmates - he believes in Seunghoon.
Relationships: Kim Jinwoo/Song Minho | Mino
Kudos: 10





	Lovelace

** Lovelace **

"Do you believe in soulmates?"

A foolish question to make when you already know his answer. Seunghoon is too practical and down-to-earth to even care, to even consider it. 

"It's bullshit," he says looking inquiringly at you. "Why are you even asking?" You bit your lips, nervous, and think for a second.

"Just surveying," you reply, the excuse too lame to be trusted. But Seunghoon isn't paying attention to it. He is looking at you, pensive.

"Are you in love?" he wonders, aside trembling note on his voice. Your hair swirls around your sides when you shake your head. No. Not really, not that you are aware of - though there is a part of your mind saying otherwise, you mute it just to not worry Seunghoon; if you tell him he will be hurt and you don’t want that, can’t allow to lose him, your best friend, your best half.

Seunghoon smiles and his hands are on your face, brushing your locks back as you would have done. He knows you well. He knows you are not saying the truth, his fingers cold against your cheeks, sad, dejected, but still here. He knows why and he won’t press the matter further – he will wait for you to be ready to explain it to yourself first, he will wait for you to unveil the lies covering your own heart, your own truth. 

Soulmates: the world makes your head spin, dizzy, foggy, smirking. Soulmate. And you just found yours – you think, remembering the way the first encounter made you feel. One accidental glance and your hands were itching to hold him, your heart beating out of pace, calling for him in names that you are too ashamed to repeat even inside of your mind. A force that beats out of tune, that makes you shimmer in blue, jolting your spine like a thunderstorm, your senses struck, his face drawn under your eyes - you have memorised his contours, you can feel the caress of his lips on your eyelids, distant, far away. But you brush it all away, you ignore it the best you can because you don’t want to let Seunghoon down - he doesn't deserve it, not after all the times he has saved your life. You don’t want that, you don’t need a soulmate - if they are real. You already have Seunghoon. But that person on the street is stuck inside your head as well as rooting inside your core and you can’t help it, the seed already blooming on your chest, pinion what you already feel towards someone else. 

Or perhaps, just like Seunghoon thinks, it's just random passing by thought about a handsome stranger and the string inside your heart tugging was just an imagination. Maybe you should tell Seunghoon fully, ask for his advice. He knows much more about life than you do and he has always advised you, navigated you through all since high school until now. It makes sense, doesn’t it? To be astonished by a handsome person that you won’t see again. The sensation will fade away and Seunghoon will remain, like always, save inside your heart. 

You smile at him, sinking back to his chest, both halves lying on the couch. Seunghoon welcomes you with his hands around your waist and his chin atop your head. Seunghoon squishes your cheek and makes you laugh. He has been by your side for so long you aren't sure if you could survive otherwise. The TV makes some background sounds and you rely on it, the familiarity of it, of Seunghoon, staying for dinner, talking until late before calling it a day, both waving goodbyes that will turn into good mornings. He has been your light, your guide, he has stayed by your side when everyone else left. He is more than your best friend, you know, you are aware, but you can’t say it to him because he doesn’t believe in love. After all, he is too good to be yours in the way you want him - because if you say it, he will have to break your core, and he is too gentle, too kind to hurt you. 

"I don't know why I asked you that. You are so practical, of course, you wouldn't believe in soulmates. I don't even think you believe in love," you joke, giggling. It's true, though, Seunghoon, as handsome as he is, has never dated. Which is odd because he would make an excellent boyfriend - he is already a wonderful friend to you.

From behind you see him chokes at your outburst, his cheekbones shaded in soft pink but he brushes the idea off and jokes back at you. After this you forget all about soulmates and the gorgeous boy you met on the street, leaning on him like nothing, changing the TV channel and letting him cook for you again, like always. 

Seunghoon will sit with you and chit-chat about his day, about his awful coworker or his nightmare project he has to finish if he wants to graduate. In return, you will explain to him the plot of the last movie you have watched and laughed at all his lame jokes - that you find thrilling just because it’s Seunghoon. 

After all, soulmates are only part of fairytales and myths - you know. You have never even thought of that so it's just natural that the memory, so fresh and vivid, fades away from your mind in a week. Soulmates are for the fool who believes in true love and princesses, not you. And, like this, you dream of him but it doesn’t bother you, it doesn’t stir your heart or take away your breath but you forget the name you first put on this new feeling that is blooming, unnoticed, inside your chest.

You are sitting in the library, working on your project. There is something wrong with the plan of the building you are designing for your class, but you can't point it out. You stare, absorbed, into the screen, a finger trailing the silhouette of it when you feel it, a warm tug inside your core, persistent, pitapatting against your ribs, a beating sun inside your bones melting blood and thoughts and anything in between. And when you turn around, sitting right next to you is him. The man who turned your heart upside down with one glance, the one whom you think you belong to but you clearly don't because it is wrong - because you are your own person but feel completed now, next to him, a giggle escaping nervously through your lips. 

He smiles at you and, for a moment, the world is gone, there is only you, him and the universe palpitating in your eyes, exploding like fireflies and burning forest. The stars align and it feels just perfect as if your heartbeats were in sync. He stares at you and you flush and tremble in excitement that is complicated to contain and impossible to explain - you, who are shy and timid, right now all you want to do is to talk with this stranger, tell him the shape of your days and the colour of your dreams; you want to stargaze on his smile, kiss the corner of his curled, smallmouth. You want to be next to him, the shadow of his nights, swirl inside his mind as he is doing with you, you want to ruffle his messy hair and colour in his skin. It feels strange, to feel this impulse, this urge to be with him even though you don’t know his name, even though he is just a pretty face only. 

"You forgot the emergency exit" he points out. His voice is low and raspy and it’s the sound of the ocean, the waves that bring you back home; like a lonely island in the middle of the world, safe and precious. You long for it, like a sailor listening to a mermaid, you want to be buried inside his voice, to listen to it forevermore.

He is right. He is also sitting next to you, so close that there isn't space between your hands and his arms and his head lingers dangerously near your shoulder as if he is about to rest it in the small hollow of your neck and, for a second, you don’t mind at all. There is a rush of energy and your fingers feel electrified but you suppress the urge to intertwine them together, to hold his hand and your chest yearns for something that isn’t real but that you can feel on the tip of your mind, a name rolling on your tongue - soulmates; that is it, but you cross the world out of your brain because, no, soulmate doesn’t exist (it’s stupid enough that you are feeling things for an outsider, sentiments that are rooting inside your core, sprouting like blue roses). 

He is clearly flirting with you. He smirks and stares and all his roughness disappears when he is facing you - then he becomes a sunset, soft and sweet and cheeky. You try hard to resist, ignoring him to the best of your abilities but giggles and sighs elude your pursed lips and your jowl is constantly shaded in pink. 

You decide to explain it all to Seunghoon, about your chest storming and the fact that he couldn't stop staring at you with dreamy eyes, adoration painting his pretty face. You tell Seunghoon all the ways he makes your heart shake and your flesh turn into ashes, burning over ice and fire. All the ways your heart skipped beats, your mind shaded in pink, your fingers bustle to touch, to grace, to be laced with him. 

“He was hitting on you, hyung”, Seunghoon tells you. “You know that all this soulmate business is stupid. Why do you have to end with your destined one instead of with someone you already love and care for? Besides, what if your other half turns out to be a serial killer?” Seunghoon has a point. “I think you were only agitated because you think he is handsome,” he laughs, brushing your worries away, but you can see a layer of sadness on his voice. A sadness that doesn't belong to Seunghoon.

His opinion on the matter is very much valid and thoughtful - being as practical as he is, he wouldn’t care about this matching system, archaic and pointless as he has very well noted. Besides, you can't trust yourself. You are too innocent and naive and kind, you often misunderstand others intentions - maybe he was only being nice to you and it’s all in your imagination, all the sensations shooting your sense down. 

“How hard did he go for you to realise that he was flirting? ' Seunghoon wonders, smirking. Yes, you are oblivious too.

“I guess he was very intense chatting up with me,” you reply, nodding, recalling all of his words that were sweet and intimate and lovable. He was charming, too, making you tingle, goosebump all over your backbone. As if gravity was pulling you two together, it was complicated to resist the force, laced by your core.

“You are infatuated!” Seunghoon laughs, unbelieving you, teasingly. You already regret telling him all that transpired this afternoon at the library – you thought he would help you comprehend the meaning of this strange sensation; instead, he is roasting you, calling you names from tales. But as much as he jokes and grins there is something more underneath - something tangible but unlabeled. 

Could it just be that: a crush on a man you don’t know but that already owns your heart? You believe it is because Seunghoon says so and you leave it to a future unfolding. You don’t even have his name so it’s clearly foolish to put a stamp on it and you clearly don’t believe in soulmates as much as it feels so right to call it this way. 

It’s too early to be so anxious about classes. Nevertheless, you rush to your morning shift at college and you are so nervous for no apparent reason - you aren’t too fond of technical drawing but, suddenly, your heart speeds up its beating rate and your skin is all blooming in crimson poppies. All your view is reduced to the front, the rest a splash of blur and when the teacher comes in, sitting where your eyes are focused, you understand it.

It’s him.

His name is Song Minho and he is the new assistant teacher. He will be your professor for the rest of the year and he seems as amused to meet you again as you are, as uneasy as you feel, as attached to you as he was in the library the day before.

When you tell Seunghoon he makes sure to point out that “teacher and student” relationships are totally forbidden and that you could be expelled. But you already know it - you know it as if imprinted on your own body. 

“Jinwoo hyung, you better get over him soon or you’ll be in trouble,” Seunghoon advises you a week later after hearing you rambling again about your same problem that it’s Minho. 

Instead of keeping it professional, distant, he is all over you, making it difficult to breathe, to concentrate. He is all that lingers in your mind and you really shouldn’t be thinking about romance - you should be thinking about your degree, the one you have been working for so hard, for so long. He is all you can dream of, talk about, feel. He is everywhere even when he is not around - like the shadow of a gosh, he follows you, and you can’t fight against the air as much as you want to curse and cry and smash his pretty, smitten face; he has turned into a gloomy day, a profane name you can’t say because it feels like a summoning spell. 

And yet, as much as you force yourself out of the gravity that pulls you in, it’s unavoidable, it’s unattainable to ignore Minho. Like the moon to the oceans, you are forced to rise with him, his mere presence is like a tide - you gasp and you gawk and there is nothing else for you to see. But you refuse to call it the way your heart knows it is - soulmates are not real, just a fairytale.

A month has passed by and your attraction is so hard to resist. You pretend to be alright, but when he is in the same room all the air escapes from your lungs. Like diving into a pool, your chest burns from the pressure and the lack of oxygen that you can only get from his touches - these random moments when it’s imperative for him to grace you and you can’t run away because it would be rude (and he is your teacher, you can’t desert your classes just because of him). He looks at you, he looks after you, he wants this, whatever it is, and he only makes it harder, more difficult for you to just be - when he is nearby, you want to disappear because he pulls you in with an intensity you aren’t strong enough to fight and, yet, he ignores the obvious, how impossible is for you to breathe, to stay calm, to avoid the hankering, the craving you have to belong to him, to have his lips marking, ripping your skin, marking you as his own. 

Maybe if no one knows… But Seunghoon would. He certainly would because he sees through you, you are nothing but a page ready to be read by him. If you do what you want; if you sink into your desires… he will notice. So you have to be strong, you have to endure the pain that is it looking at him looking at you with the same desire burning on his pupils - matching, equal, just like you. He would tell the dean and it would be the end of your career. And his, too. Because the relationship you are harbouring, longing for as if life depends on it, it’s forbidden and you won’t break the rules just for a yen, as much as you long for it, you won’t let this escalate even more. 

And, then, there is Seunghoon who feels absent, like mourning. He laughs and jokes still but you sense him differently; drifting apart. He doesn’t bother to listen to you rambling about Minho, about the affection you have that is not real because you don’t know him this well - it’s not real but it’s rooted inside of your chest nevertheless. He doesn’t care about you in that sense anymore and you are concerned about him. That’s how you end banning his name from your lips. You act carefully around your best friend, skirting around feelings and reason, love and hate. You classify Minho as a new sin - and you are not a sinner so you have to stay clean. But his name tastes like drugs and you have pronounced it enough to be addicted. It’s too late to forget or to let go because you see him every day, everywhere. Under your eyelids, under the moonlight, underwater. His voice calls you and you are attracted to it, unavoidable, a force bigger than your resistance. It pulls and pushes you in and you think you are going insane with this rise and fall that is Song Minho. 

You take another shot and the whiskey burns your throat the right way. Your mind is fizzy and you are finally content. The alcohol is diluting his face and, after so long, you can breathe again. It’s nice to be out, to skip the missing, the craving that is installed permanently on your ribs, the unknown desire lodged deep inside your eyes. Right now they are empty, blurry, an empty bottle on the table. You lift the glass and nips at it, cold and refreshing just before the drink touches your lips. It blazes your skin, charring everything on your innards. A hand falls on yours and your head stops spinning, the stars fade away.

“I think you have had enough,” his voice tickles your ears. You pout. You want more. You definitely haven’t had enough - not if he is still lingering on your mind. Clearly, you need more buzz to kill his whispering, the palpitation that is giving you goosebumps. You dismiss him and stumble to the bar. Minho holds you before you trip over your own feet. “Jinwoo, you are wasted,” he says, gently, hands on your waist, burning your flesh.

“No, I’m not,” you complain and pout and struggle to let go of his arms, breaking free again. But he is stronger and keeps you in, close to his chest. The tension is palpable, you can see it hanging there, like ribbons jostling - its gravity. But he is adamant. He drags you out and pulls you in, walking you down the streets, mumbling sweet nothings only for you to hear.

“I love you, I love you, we are meant to be. Stop pushing against it,” he says, his fingers gracing your skin. He holds you still, somewhere that feels like home but it’s not it. He keeps you inside his arms, his head on your shoulder, nudging, holding, snuggling. 

For a hallucination, it feels very real. You nod, your mind is blown away by the fantasy. 

His lips are hesitantly circling yours. When he finally pulls you in, it tastes like magic. It’s just a dream, you comfort yourself, letting him in, lips colliding, fingers romancing, fidgeting on the hem of your shirt, travelling down and under and leaving traces of ice on your skin. Minho nips at your strawberry lips and you tilt your head, mouths parted, tongues tangled. You swallow his moans, all the cries of your name that feel like a charm. It’s just not happening, it’s only on your mind, so it’s ok to allow his hands to touch and scratch, lips biting, tongue poking on your neck, refreshing your burnt out skin. It feels so good, too good to be real. His hips are on you, his dick hard, brushing yours. 

You are going crazy with Minho underneath your bones, breaking them with every push, with every time he let you in. He screams and moans and it’s delightful, so lew and pretty, his lips on your nipples, hard and rosy, twisting them with teeth and you thrust in deeper until he begs for more, moaning in ecstasy, a glorious view of him coming, his body convulsing, spasming in waves of pleasure, your fingers holding him, tracing his profile, until you collapse on top of him, sweat all over your body, his touch still lingering. It feels wonderful when you fall asleep next to him, snuggling, finally. It’s been so long since the last time you sleep so peacefully, mind shut up, Minho’s name sweetly covering your own. 

Waking up to the sun caressing your eyes should feel like shit but you feel fresh and content. Minho is laying next to you, his head nestling on your chest, lips rubbing your ribs - and then you realise the clothes scattered on the floor, the way your skin is pale under the velvety touch of the blankets.

You see white before the world turns upside down.

It’s probably you yelling and kicking what wakes Minho up.

How much did you drink last night? Not enough to kill you right now, the embarrassment eating you alive, remorse setting inside your stomach, shame for what you have done. You want to die. You want to dig your own grave, incinerate yourself - and maybe the flames of anger and humiliation are doing the job. It was real, not a drunk induced slumber. Your mind is a hurricane of regrets and disappoints, everything falling on you like dust, a perfect storm ready to hit you. 

Your torso and neck are covered in scarlet, lovebites all over and Minho looks at them adoringly. You want to leave. You dress quickly and make a way to the door. You don’t want to talk because there is nothing to be said - it was all a terrible, horrible mistake (the ramifications of it are already burdening you, like an anchor, straight to set you on the same spot until you’ll drown).

“Jinwoo, wait!” you are nearly at the door but your name on his lips feels like a spell. You turn to face him and his eyes gleam, looking at you with something impossible. “You can’t deny this, you can’t just run away!”

Well, you can. 

(No, you can not, you are stuck in front of the door, waiting, expecting, your heart lazed to him). 

“When I first saw you I was awestruck. The world stopped and it felt like magic inside. I knew it then, the meaning of it. We are destined, soulmates,” he explains with a raspy voice and spires of fire.

“This is the usual reaction when people see me” you want to cut him up with what Seunghoon always says about you - that you are gorgeous, that people are blessed upon seeing you. But you stay mute and let him talk.

“I know you feel the same way,” he continues, “I feel it, too”. 

“Soulmates aren’t real,” you begin to argue, but once out of your mouth, it feels stupid, pointless. Because what is now burning inside of you is real, as much as you want to suffocate it, its lights are out of control, Minho must be seeing the fog and the fumes. 

“But we are, we are one,” he protests and you roll your precious eyes. “You can’t deny it, I’ve seen it in you, how you fight against your feelings when I’m around. I’m not kidding, I feel it. I feel what you feel.”

This is too much. He is only provoking you, it is all a lie to get laid with you, to fuck your body as he has already screwed your mind. This is a joke, a mental trick. It’s not real, it’s not happening to you. You are still asleep - you drank enough to get induced hallucinations. You should call Seunghoon, he will take care of you, he will kick Minho out of your mind, he will free you of this nightmare, will wipe away the cold sweat of your forehead, tug you under the blankets.

“You are thinking about Seunghoon,” he yells, his voice echoing inside your ears. Seunghoon’s name, how does he know it? You never said it aloud, Seunghoon is your secret - your conscience. And your expression must have revealed the inside of your thoughts because Minho is smiling, sagely. “I know him. I felt a pang yesterday, the taste of liquor drowning my senses. That’s how I could find you”.

“Stalker!” you scream, throwing cushions at him. You bang the door open but he follows you. He reaches for you, fingers on your wrist, halting you midway. 

“Listen to me, Jinwoo. I love you, I won’t hurt you. And I’m not a stalker, I swear,” he says gently, reassuringly, you held against his chest, your back colliding against his ribs. You can hear his heart pounding and the sound of it makes you relax until you lie limp inside his arms. He pulls you closer, your head resting on his clavicle. He turns you over, your eyes staring at his own - the universe stops spiralling and it is void of something inexplicable (soft, warm, wonderful). 

“It can’t be,” you reply, weak, broken. You are so tired, tired of fighting, of resisting the impulse, the magnetism, the magic between you two. You want to dive in, let the flames begin. Let the fire consume your bones. He sits you next to him on the bed, his hand clasping yours - fingers finding their own way to be pressed together.

“It is, Jinwoo. And if you don’t accept it, we will both suffer. I’m dying without you, withering,” he explains. “I need to be with you, you need to be with me. So why are you making it so difficult? Why do you want to hurt us?”

You don’t have an answer that can satisfy him - you can only tell him that you don’t believe in fairytales, that what he is saying is not true. But, then, why does he feel what you feel, see what you do?

Maybe it’s all true. Maybe you can have this, maybe you are allowed to be Minho’s. 

“You are my teacher. It’s morally wrong and it is against the college policy,” they are Seunghoon’s words, but you throw them to Minho like daggers. He smirks.

“Soulmates can’t be separated. The dean can’t force us to be apart, it would kill us,” he states. “Jinwoo,” he murmurs, hands brushing away your black hair. His voice is so intimate, he is so close that you are losing your mind. 

You get up and run - you run because you need Seunghoon.

Seunghoon smells like dreams and coffee. You stomp inside his place and you tell him all. Seunghoon drinks calmly and listens to you rambling about magic, drinking and Song Minho. His expression remains unbothered but you can see the change inside his eyes - these orbs you know so well: hurt, desolated, sad. 

“I always thought that you were my soulmate,” he confesses, voice low - you have to make an effort to follow him, to understand what is happening. “I didn’t want to lie to you. I was wrong... Of course that soulmates fucking exist,” he hisses now, but overall, it’s all sadness that lingers on his words. 

“Seunghoon?” You are more surprised than hurt or mad - you can’t be mad at Seunghoon, you love him enough to forgive him everything and you understand him now.

“I love you, hyung. And I thought that maybe with some time, you would come around. But now it’s too late. Now it’s impossible,” he clarifies. “You have found your true soulmate, and it’s not me.” 

You want to cry, you want to run to him, clash your arms around his hips, kiss him as you always wanted - always until Minho. 

Because you loved Seunghoon, too. You do nothing instead because it will hurt Seunghoon, it would break him and this is enough.

“I love you, too. And I’m sorry. I wish that you were him, the yearning of my soul,” you see blurry due to the tears shading your vision. Seunghoon wipes them out, hugs you tight, he reassures you, puts a balsam on you - when it’s him who needs it the most. You kiss him on the cheek and he smiles, ruffling your hair with care and affection.

“It will pass,” he cheers up, “I’ll find my own love. And that means that you’ll have to deal with it and with me,” and you are laughing because, honestly, you wish for nothing but for Seunghoon’s happiness - after all, it’s all that he deserves; to be content, to be your best friend.

“I’ll be rooting for it,” you say, squeezing his hand tightly. 

“Now, you better introduce me to that Minho. Though I still think that soulmate is stupid,” he jokes, serving you another mug of coffee - because you are hangover despite the joy you feel inside your chest.

Seunghoon doesn’t allow you to distance from him and he legit welcomes Minho, who is holding your hand in his, smiling as if the world were you and he owned it. And since Minho and you are always together, inseparable, Seunghoon soon becomes Minho’s friend, too. He jokes with him, he disses him and messes around, growing fond of your soulmate. 

“You can keep him. He approved the test,” he says, months later. 

“Are you ok, Seunghoon?” You never talk to him about his feelings, about his love, but you are worried, you don’t want him to be forcing himself to like Minho for your wellbeing. You want him to be happy - you would break up the bond with Minho if needed, that’s how much you care for Seunghoon.

“‘Course I am!” he says, messing around. “I really like Minho, he is so dumb! He would do anything for you and that means I can take advantage of it,” he has done it - he convinces Minho to join all his crazy plans and ideas; they are a duo on their own. It makes your heart tremble in love. “And he already knows what will happen to him if he ever hurts you, hyung,” he adds, smirking.

You can only laugh and hug your friend, wondering when he will find his true love. You have found it in Minho. After all the fighting, after all the hurting, now you are completed, bonded, love laced. 


End file.
